Dancing Shoes

"You'll need to be fitted for your dress robes."

Neville looked up sharply, nearly knocking over his half-finished bowl of cereal. "My what?" he asked uncertainly.

"Your dress robes," repeated Gran, eyeing him over the top of the parchment she was reading. "They're listed as a requirement for your fourth year."

Neville considered asking if he might have a look at his list of school supplies, but past experience had taught him that this was not the best of ideas. Gran would give it to him when she was finished with it, and not a moment sooner. So instead he settled for murmuring, "I wonder why?"

"How should I know why?" sniffed Gran. "If Dumbledore had intended for you to know, he'd've sent a letter with your school supply list. But he hasn't, so I expect there's a good reason for you not to know just yet."

He nodded, and went back to finishing his cereal. It wasn't as though he wasn't used to not knowing things, after all.

No sooner had he shoveled the last spoonful into his mouth, than Gran said, "Well, come along. We haven't got all day."

He rinsed his bowl and left it in the sink, then turned toward the fireplace, where Gran was already lighting the fire that would take them to Diagon Alley. As he approached her, one of her old, leathery hands caught his chin, and he looked questioningly at her as she surveyed his face with a critic's eye.

"Blue," she said firmly after a moment, and let him go. "You'll do well in blue."

-

On the way home, Gran insisted on carrying the parcel that contained Neville's dress robes, lest he should drop it or sully it somehow. Neville, knowing full well his own remarkable capacity for mucking things up, didn't bother to argue.

Gran had stuck by her decision that he should have blue robes. When they'd finally found a set that fit him, in a style that she approved of, she'd gone on and on about how the color made his skin look healthier, or something like that. Personally, Neville neither saw any difference nor understood why it mattered - but what he did understand was that the midnight-blue robes made him feel... older. Or more mature. Or something.

Maybe it was just that he wasn't in his Hogwarts uniform, but for the first time he felt like more than just another student. He felt like a young man.

Once he'd packed all his schoolbooks away in his trunk, Gran let him take the robes out and try them on again. "Good," she said, and he smiled, for despite the characteristic curtness in her voice, there was a certain twisting of her lip that told him she was genuinely pleased.

"Wait here," said Gran. "I've something for you."

Slightly taken aback, Neville did as he was told. He didn't dare sit down, for he'd already got a lecture about how the robes should be folded properly and not allowed to wrinkle - and he didn't really feel like hearing another. So instead he wandered about kitchen, imagining what the robes might be for.

It'd be a formal occasion of sorts; of that there was no doubt. But what kind of formal occasion? Were they to have a distinguished visitor that year? Was there going to be some sort of formal party? Were they going to go somewhere cultural, as Gran had suggested?

There was no way for him to know for sure. But there was one thing he was sure of: whatever the occasion, Neville would do his grandmother proud. He stood up a little straighter, imagining himself in a room full of people dressed just as smartly as he was. He looked around and pretended to see someone that he recognized. "Hello, Minister," he said quietly, and performed a little bow. "So very, very pleased to see you. My grandmother sends her regards, of course. And Professor Dumbledore, so good of you to invite me...."

He jumped as he heard footsteps in the corridor; by the time Gran had entered the room again, Neville was once again standing straight and tall, as though he hadn't just been talking to nobody a moment before.

"Here," said Gran, and held a brown box out to him. "You ought to have these."

Neville gingerly took the box and set it down upon the table. Opening it, he peeled back several layers of tissue paper before he could properly see what was inside.

It was a pair of shoes. They were so shiny that they would have looked brand new, except that the soles were slightly worn. Neville looked quizzically up at his grandmother.

"They were your father's," she said. "He wore them when he used to take your mother dancing... and I expect he'd have wanted you to have them, if there's an occasion so formal it requires dress robes."

Neville blinked, nearly dumbfounded. It was a rare thing indeed for Gran to bring up the subject of his parents in anything bordering on a sentimental way. Oh, sure, he couldn't even begin to count the number of times she'd said things like "Make your father proud!" or "What would your mother think if she saw that?" - but this was... he didn't know what it was.

Nor did she give him time to figure it out. "Try them on," she said in her usual curt manner. "They'll be a bit big, I'm sure, but I can easily resize them to fit you."

Hurriedly, Neville pulled them on and did up the laces. It only took Gran three spells to get them to fit just right.

"They fit good," he said.

"They fit well," she corrected him automatically. "And yes, they do." She stood back, instructing him to turn about so she could see the shoes and robes together from all angles.

"You look just like your father," she said softly as he came around to face her again. Neville held his breath, wondering if she'd say anything more - but after a moment of silence, she gave a little shake of her head. "That'll do," she said. "Pack those things carefully - carefully, mind you - and wash your hands for supper."

With that, she turned from him and headed for the pantry.

Quietly, Neville went upstairs, took off the blue robes, and folded them neatly into his trunk. He placed the shoes back into their box, but it was a few minutes before he could tear his eyes away from them, his father's dancing shoes, long enough to close the box and pack it away.

Even when he closed and locked the lid on his trunk, he couldn't stop smiling.